


sing to me the song of the stars

by drinktea



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drama, Lust, M/M, Pre-Game(s), Slow Build, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tags to be added, rated for language and a bit of sexual content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-10-16 04:09:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10563414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinktea/pseuds/drinktea
Summary: Prompto's hair is the most golden shade of blond Noctis has ever seen—the colour of chocobo feathers. And his eyes are blue, which is rare in the kingdom. He has a favourite t-shirt, which Noctis understands. And his fingers are long, made for an artist. All in all, Prompto seems like a nice person.Noctis knows he should tell his father that he found his soulmate. But how can they be soulmates when they're bothguys? How is he supposed to lead the kingdom with a guy for a soulmate?-(Soulmark AU, where Noct and Prompto are soulmates... but there's a lot standing in their way, including—at times—themselves.)





	1. heavy lies the head (that wears a crown)

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY WOW this soulmark AU has completely taken over my free time for the past week or so, and it's high time to post it. It started as a oneshot and just... totally got out of hand. Anyway, I am so excited to post my first fic for Final Fantasy XV! I LOVED the game so much (platinumed it, aw yeah) and I'm just running on fanatical inspiration right now because the FFXV universe is brimming with stories untold!
> 
> A couple of things I should mention:  
> 1) the R rating is for language and for a tiny part of a scene that is sexual in nature  
> 2) I highly recommend that you watch Episode 2 of FFXV Brotherhood, "Dogged Runner", a Prompto-centric episode where Noct and Prompto's childhood is featured, to enhance your reading of this (not needed, but recommended)  
> 3) this is definitely un-beta'd, so if you spot an error, please let me know!  
> 4) as a lovely commenter reminded me, the title of this song is taken from Mandy Moore's _Only Hope_  
>  5) I'm on tumblr as [drinktea](http://drinktea.tumblr.com)! Please feel free to talk to me if you have any FFXV feels because I HAVE ALL THE FEELS
> 
> And with that, I leave you to read this extremely long story. I'm rather attached to it, so all I can hope is that you get attached too :)

**+**

 

Noctis gets his soulmark when he turns eleven.

It's early, especially for a member of the Lucis royal bloodline. From all he's learned from the royal tutors, most of his forefathers got their soulmarks around fifteen or sixteen—just the right age to be thinking of marrying. There are a lot of inherent dangers surrounding the soulmarks as a member of any royal family, things he learned about even before he got his. The stories hovered over their heads like bad omens; tales of greedy swindlers seeking only the fortune that came with the crown, kidnapping and conniving and killing all for the knowledge of what those tiny lines of script read. Entire kingdoms held in limbo, all for the promise of love's true destiny. Indeed, his great great grandfather's soulmate had been captured and bargained for, her life a mere pawn in a political game. _Never again_ , he had decreed, making it law that no member of the royal family should have to reveal even the mere fact of having received their mark until they were eighteen.

So the fact that Noctis gets his _now_ —well, it's a bit worrisome.

He discovers it as he changes out of his pyjamas and into his regular clothes. The words must have come to him in his sleep. The script is skinny and loopy, with large spaces between the words. And what it actually says is completely strange and unexpected: _Hello, Prince! I'd like to be frie_ —

He stares at the silly words, curling along the juncture between his trunk and his right thigh. They're written upside down on his body so that he can read them when he's sitting, which is what he does now. What does this mean? His soulmate knows he's the Prince. And his soulmate wants to be... friends? That must be the last part. What kind of soulmark _is this_?

A knock comes on the door. "Prince Noctis, is everything alright?"

His hands dart immediately to cover his mark, even though he knows the servant would never open the door. "Please call my father," he says by way of reply.

"The King is in a meeting with the Immortal, Prince Noctis," the servant responds, his voice muffled somewhat by the wood. "Shall I request an audience for after your daily lessons?"

Seated in front of the mirror, it is impossible not to see the light in his own eyes dimming. "Yes. Thank you." He should've known he couldn't see his father right away, not with all this Niflheim business.

The servant's voice comes again. "It is my pleasure, your Highness."

He pulls his clothes on quickly after that, readying himself for the day. Although what the mark _says_ is confusing, at least it's in an easily concealed place.

Only later does he realize that it's practically next to his crotch.

 

**+**

 

When he finally does get to speak to his father about his soulmark, his father seems stymied too.

"It's barely a full sentence," King Regis mutters, his eyes boring into Noctis' skin as if searching for answers. After a couple of years of having erected the wall surrounding the Crown City, Noctis had noticed his father's eyes becoming more distant, his mind always preoccupied with invasion and treaties and the-Six-only-know-what-else. To bear the full brunt of his father's gaze now, he feels an odd mixture of discomfort and happiness. He never gets to be alone with his father anymore.

"The last word must be _friends_ , right?" Noctis pipes up, darting his eyes from his mark to his father. He sits on his bed, tugging the waistband of his pants just low enough for the script to be seen.

Kneeling, Regis tilts his head up at his son. "Right," he echoes. Then he pulls up the right side of Noctis' pants, concealing the mark once more. He lays a hand against Noctis' shoulder. "No one else knows that you've received your soulmark, correct?"

"C-correct," he promises.

King Regis takes a moment to study Noctis' comforter, eyes dancing over the sprinkling of watercolour moons and stars—a pattern that Noctis is starting to outgrow. "Noctis, I've been thinking about this for a while, and your soulmark"—King Regis' heavy gaze darts to Noctis' pants, where the soulmark lies hidden—"would only seem to hasten my decision."

Noctis senses something hanging over his father, spreading its dark shadows. "Father?"

But then, Regis only gives a short sigh, and he is fully present again. The golden light streaming in through the window sets his eyes sparkling. "Noctis, would you like to attend regular school?"

What? This doesn't seem... connected at all. "Father, what do you mean?"

"We would stop your private lessons here at the palace, of course. Perhaps bring a tutor in to assist when there are matters of State, but aside from that your schooling would be... normal."

Normal? That actually sounds kind of great. He nods. "I'd like that."

Still, he can't ignore the quick change of gears. He means to circle the conversation back around, but his father beats him to it.

"I should think you'd meet more people your own age in regular school. Make some friends. Enjoy your youth."

_Make some friends_.

Oh.

His father must be thinking of what his soulmark says. School would be so he could meet—

He looks at his father searchingly.

Regis' eyes are on the sunset though, outside Noctis' bedroom window. "You'll be King one day, Noctis. It will not be an easy path. My wish for you is that you have your Fated by your side."

His gaze falls to the ground. It never got any easier, talking about the day he would be King. Though his father is strong yet, there's no denying that someday...

Regis's other hand rises to grip Noctis' shoulder. His hands are rarely ever bare, the skin concealed always beneath gloves. Noctis lets his gaze stray to the script wrapped around his father's knuckles: _And a very good evening to you, sir._

Regis had found his soulmate at the age of twenty five, married her at twenty six, and lost her at thirty eight. He had grown colder since her death, redeemed only by the strength of his will to lead his people in such troubled times. The wall, maintained through the combined power of the Crystal and his father's lifeforce, is testament to that.

And already at the age of eleven, Noctis wonders how he could hope to leave such a legacy as his father undoubtedly will. (He wonders if he even wants to at all.)

 

**+**

 

As it turns out, school is not great for making friends.

It's been a year of his private school education at Crown City Elementary School, and all he does is stick out like a sore thumb. The boys are intimidated and the girls prefer to gawk from afar. Obviously, for the sake of his (still secret) soulmark, he should try to befriend a girl, but it doesn't seem likely, not at this rate. There's no real hurry, since he's only twelve, but the fact that his mark appeared so early at all—

Ugh. It's too much to think about.

It's just that with the kind of attention he gets, he's almost certain that none of these girls are his soulmate. They're all too interested in his title and his father and _the castle and how many servants do you have Prince Noctis_ —

"Washroom," he mutters, pivoting on his heel. He doesn't even try to rush away, instead ambling in the general direction of the boy's room as the girls call confusedly at his back.

He pushes the door open half-heartedly and makes a beeline for a stall. He pulls his pants and underwear low enough to read the soulmark, thin and wavering against the pale expanse of skin.

_Hello, Prince! I'd like to be frie_ —

He reads it again and again, as if to convince himself that somewhere, out there, his soulmate is waiting. That's why he's in school, isn't it? His father had basically said as much. Attend school, enjoy himself, make a friend that could become his soulmate. And do it all in secret, because heaven help him if word of his soulmark got out. Those girls would become ten times as ravenous, and who knows what Niflheim would do if they got their hands on such information.

He hasn't even realized that he's been resting his head against the stall door until the bell rings.

He jumps in place, swings the stall door open, and rushes back to class.

 

**+**

 

Lately at recesses, Noctis has taken to hiding out near the equipment sheds. It's the quietest place he's found so far.

He doesn't know how to tell his father that regular school isn't really working out for him. He's lonelier than ever. But he figures it's just one of those things you grin and bear, and at least he's not stuck inside the palace all day with a stuffy royal tutor. The only thing is that ever since his schooling changed, his staff got changed around too. He now has a personal attendant, a member of the loyal Scientia family, and his arms training has heightened substantially. Though his father won't say it, he knows all the extra security and lessons are on account of his soulmark, to prepare him for meeting his Fated. It's a lot of work, but he has no choice in the matter, so he doesn't bother to get too riled up about it.

He's thinking that tonight, he might tell his father that he wants to change school streams after seventh grade is over. It's a logical request—maybe a different group of people will yield his soulmate.

But right then, he senses someone off to his left.

It's a blond boy with glasses. As the boy steps closer, Noctis recognizes him as a classmate. He almost certainly sits in the same row, just on the other side of the room, next to the doors. He keeps to himself a lot.

"Hello, Prince!" he calls out across the gap between them. He steps over a hurdle. Noctis already feels his alarm rising, even before the boy's other foot catches the stick. "I'd like to be frie—" And then the other boy faceplants straight into the ground.

Before he's even aware of it, Noctis is barreling forward. "Are you okay?" he shouts, running up to the fallen boy.

He's sprawled out on his stomach, blond hair flopping into his eyes. "A-ah. I think the camera's good," he says, fiddling with the red digital camera in his grip. It obviously means a lot to him.

Noctis holds out a hand for the boy to take.

Confusion flits over the boy's face for a second, the settling dust around him only highlighting his freckles. Then he offers his camera. "Here."

Noctis blinks, then finally laughs. "No, not that." He shakes his hand in the air again.

"Oh. Oh! Sorry," the boy apologizes—Noctis has no idea why (but maybe, on a realer level he knows exactly why)—and then the boy gets onto his knees. His palm claps against Noctis', and Noctis feels the warmth of the blond boy's hand burn a trail all the way up his arm.

He struggles to lift the other boy, clasping him tight with both hands. "You're heavy!" he says, embarrassed that he has so much trouble helping the boy up. Gladiolus is always getting on his case about being weak, and for his irritating trainer to be proven right in such a mundane setting only wounds Noctis' pride more.

When the boy is standing, Noctis rushes off, thankful that the bell has just pealed, signaling the end of recess. "Bye!" he barely calls out, leaping quickly over the hurdle and practically running back to class. He is _not_ weak. He resolves to spar twice as hard today when he gets home.

 

**+**

 

In his rush, Noctis almost forgets the first words the boy had said to him.

When he recalls them, he almost spits out his juice.

 

**+**

 

Noctis doesn't ask his father to transfer schools after that. Things go on as normal, mostly. The student body goes on chattering behind his back, or even to his unresponsive face. But he becomes a lot more interested in the reclusive blond boy.

He learns that the boy's name is Prompto. Prompto Argentum. He doesn't seem to have any friends, which Noctis supposes is something they have in common. He constantly fiddles with his camera, scrolling through pictures when he should be doing worksheets. In gym class, he tries hard but often ends up wheezing on the sidelines.

Prompto's hair is the most golden shade of blond Noctis has ever seen—the colour of chocobo feathers. And his eyes are blue, which is rare in the kingdom. He has a favourite t-shirt, which Noctis understands. And his fingers are long, made for an artist. All in all, Prompto seems like a nice person.

He knows he should tell his father that he found his soulmate. That's what all of this was _for_. But could they really be soulmates when they're both _guys_? How is he supposed to lead the kingdom with a guy for a soulmate?

Gaze turned absently in Prompto's direction, he decides to do some research into soulmates on his own.

 

**+**

 

"You're reading an uncommon amount," Ignis comments from across the coffee table.

From his lounging position on the couch, Noctis just smirks a little. "Schoolwork's too easy. Gotta find something else to take up my time," he snarks. Ignis is used to it by now, and frankly he only really shows this side of himself to his attendant.

"Noted. Shall I have a word with the school board? I'm sure they could easily revise the curriculum for the rest of your ninth year," Ignis volleys back, adjusting his spectacles.

He frowns at Ignis from over his book. "No sixteen year-old should be as wily as you, Ignis."

Ignis only smiles. The trademark of all wily people. But then he peers at the cover of Noctis' book. "Noctis, why are you reading _The Politics of Soulmates_?"

Having lied for years about his soulmark already, the fib slips easily out of his mouth. No one is to know about his soulmark outside of himself and his father. Not even the tailors have seen his mark, thanks to its covert position. "Just thought I'd get a leg up for when my soulmark appears."

Ignis picks up a slim folder from the coffee table, intent on leafing through it. "Is Your Highness worried about potential political scandal already?"

He is actually scouring the book for any instances of same-sex soulmates in the royal family and how they swung it, but this sounds feasible. "Yep. You're so good at this," he tacks on dryly, aiming for believability.

Ignis buys it hook, line and sinker. "A very valid concern, Prince Noctis. There is no end to the stories of mistaken soulmates, lost soulmates, fraud soulmates, soulmates held in exchange for ransom, and the like. Treacherous business, even moreso for the Crown Prince, due to the lengths to which enemy nations will go to secure their desires."

He turns a page. "Thanks for your sunny outlook."

He can't be bothered to look, but he's sure Ignis rolls his eyes. "I'm sure that as you read, you'll come across a variety of instances involving the royal family. Do take those to heart."

Now, Noctis does look up, snapping the book shut. "Have you received your words yet, Ignis?"

Ignis coughs into a fist. "No, I haven't."

"Do you want them?" he asks, belying the seriousness of the question by relaxedly cradling his chin in his palm.

Ignis does his Ignis-equivalent of a shrug, which is an ever-so-slight head tilt paired with a frown. "It's not so much a question of _do I want them_ , is it? They come to everyone regardless."

Noctis feels annoyance crawl over his skin. Trust Ignis to be pragmatic about _destiny_. "You don't think getting your words will change you?"

"If I do change, it would theoretically be for the better, wouldn't it? We'll each have found the person who suits us best in this entire world, after all." Ignis makes a vague, looping gesture in the air with a free hand.

Noctis furrows his brow. It takes him a while to put his finger on what feels _off_ about Ignis' words, but when he finally realizes what it is he wastes no time.  "You didn't mention... _love_ at all."

Ignis puts a hand to his chin. "I've given it some thought, and personally, I don't believe soulmates have to be romantic. It just so happens that they often are. Should my soulmate and I not become romantically involved, I would have no qualms."

"You wouldn't mind?" Noctis asks, sitting up.

Ignis tilts his head again—his shrug. "Why would I? It could be freeing, perhaps, to be able to choose your own spouse."

Noctis can't deny the appeal of that. If Prompto Argentum is his soulmate and he can still continue the Lucis line with a Queen of his choosing, the whole kingdom wins, right?

"Yeah, could be," he says absently, when he sees the expectant look on Ignis' face.

There's just something that's not so _romantic_ about it that has him the slightest bit... disappointed.

 

**+**

 

The first day of Noctis' tenth year, and he's already annoyed.

The uniform is fine, he supposes, if a little restrictive. He'd rather wait to wear a suit for the rest of his life, like his father does, thank you very much. But whatever. The first half of the day passes by fast enough. He loosens his tie throughout the morning so it's not pinching at his neck. He realizes that his eyes and ears are perked for one person, and when that person doesn't appear out of the ether, he feels even more annoyed. Could he have switched high school streams? _After_ Noct had figured this whole non-romantic soulmate thing out?

It's a beautiful day out, and he quickly eats the delicious lunch Ignis packed him before strolling around the new campus. Walking should calm his nerves. The sunlight and shadow forms dappled patches on the green leaves, and the sky above is clear and blue. The air is warm and pleasant on his skin, and if he didn't know exactly what his classmates were chattering about (read: him), it would be good background noise.

If Prompto Argentum _has_ switched schools, it should be no trouble to find him. There are only a handful of private high schools in the area. Noct could invent some lie to get him transferred to the same school. He just _has_ to know what it is about Prompto Argentum that the universe would deem them soulmates—he _has_ to. What could it possibly be? Is he supposed to have a thing for blond—

Out of nowhere, he feels something ram into his shoulder and nearly knock him off-balance. "Hello, Prince Noctis!"

Is someone _actually_ saying hello to him? And on top of that, _slamming into him while doing it_?

He turns around. It's a blond guy, about his height, wearing the same uniform only with a green tie, which means he's in a different class.

The guy is beaming at him like it's totally normal to bowl someone over by way of greeting. "Nice to meet you! I'm Prompto. Pleased to make your acquaintance!"

_Prompto_?

He looks the guy up and down in confusion. The guy is—the first word that comes to mind is _gorgeous_ , but he shies away from that immediately—thin and wiry. And pretty outgoing, it would seem. Nothing like the Prompto he knows from elementary school and junior high.

But when he lingers a bit on the guy's hair and eyes (chocobo gold and ocean blue), there's really no refuting it—this has to be Prompto Argentum. What are the chances that he'd introduce himself out of the blue, and like this no less?

Noct's mind jumps—does Prompto know they're soulmates?

He decides to test the waters, keeping his smile small and ironic. "This is not the first time we've met."

Prompto's reaction is immediate—his smile turns sheepish. So he remembers, at least.

Noct almost asks him another question, something along the lines of, _why are you talking to me now when you had years to do it?_ , but he catches something in Prompto's expression then, a crack in the facade. A hint of insecurity shades the blue in his eyes, and it's all too reminiscent of the look he carried back in their junior high days. Noct sees that look on his own face often enough to know what it looks like, even behind the veneer of boredom he often puts up. It's that something in Prompto's eyes that stops him from opening his mouth. Instead, he smiles and hits Prompto in the shoulder.

When Prompto shoots a surprised look back at him, he surprises himself by smirking. There'll be time yet for all the things he wants to know, surely.

Prompto's smile eases into something halfway between sheepish and goofy, but it's entirely earnest and honest. Noct likes that. In a world of Kings and succession, lying and scheming, calculation and hedging your bets—earnestness is always in short supply.

They begin walking down the path.

 

**+**

 

"So, Prince Noctis—"

"Just Noctis is fine, remember?" he interrupts.

It's Monday, a full week since their first meeting. In the days following their first meeting, they end up gravitating to the spot that they first began speaking, the path along the left side of the main building. Prompto always gets out earlier, is always waiting for him, and always gives him the biggest smile as he approaches. There's just something buoyant and infectious about how wide Prompto's smile is—it makes him smile back.

Now, as they eat lunch together under the shade of the trees, Prompto's eyes blink a bit wider. "Oh, right! Ah, Noctis, then—what do you do for fun?"

Huh. He hasn't been asked this question—ever, actually. Except by maybe Iris? "Not much. Mostly I just play video games. You?"

"No way! What video games?" Prompto asks, effectively bulldozing his last question.

It's a recurring theme, really. Prompto rarely talks about himself, always wants to talk about Noctis. If he were less sure of Prompto's soulmate status, he'd be a little worried. But then, they basically never talk about things concerning the Crown and his Princehood. Prompto asks about his other friends (he's not too shocked when Noct tells him there are none), hobbies (fishing) and schoolwork (straights As, of course). It's all pretty standard stuff, and Prompto is the most accepting person he's ever met, always responding with a little fact or enthusiastic comment ( _did you know that the best reel available uses a fusion of Altissian and Insomnian technology?_ ). It all hints at a deeply passionate person beneath the happy exterior, and he just wants to figure out Prompto as much as he's learning about Noct himself. It's a two-way street, friendship.

So Noct bats aside Prompto's question with a shake of his head. "Nope. My turn. What do you do for fun?"

Prompto chokes a little on his lunch—he always brings a giant salad and a thin sandwich with some kind of deli meat and cheese. "Um, not much, really!"

Noct leans in, knowing _exactly_ how close to get to unnerve Prompto. It's pretty easy, he's discovered. "Like what?"

Prompto starts sweating right on cue. He pulls at his tie like it's particularly pesky. "I, um, don't have much spare time. I work part-time."

_Now_ they're getting somewhere. He allows himself a bite of Ignis' daggerquill rice. "Hey, that's pretty cool. I don't know anyone our age who works. Where do you work?"

Prompto perks up, almost like he wasn't expecting Noct's response. ( _And_ —Noct thinks back on the air of isolation that hung around him when they were kids— _he probably wasn't expecting it at all_.)

"I work at an electronics shop. Mostly I get stuck with repairs. The other guys tell me I'm good at it, but I think they just hate the work," he says into his sandwich, almost as if Noct isn't there. But he wears a half-smile, a fond one that makes it obvious that he enjoys his work. The smile on Prompto's lips make Noct wonder if he's ever enjoyed anything as much as Prompto enjoys electronics. His smile is soft and it lights his whole face up.

When the time has passed for Noct to reply, Prompto looks up. He must misconstrue what Noct is smiling about since his ears turn pink. "I know, it's pretty geeky," he whispers.

"No!" he almost shouts, realizing his mistake. What a dumb move.

Prompto's responding look is one of mute shock. Noct doesn't really burst out very much, much less around new people, so he backtracks.

"Sorry," he apologizes quickly, and at a much lower volume. "What I meant is—is that it's not geeky at all."

The startled look fades from Prompto's eyes. "Really?"

"Really," he says, and he gets the feeling that he's talking much too quickly, "I think it's great that you enjoy your work. You must be really good to get hired at a job like that at fifteen."

The pink in Prompto's ears is mirrored in his nose, soon enough. "Wow, Noctis. You're... so nice."

He doesn't know what to say. How did he get here? Why is he so flustered?

"N-no," he says, after what feels like an eternity of grasping at sentences, "that's what I really think. You must be really good."

"Thanks," Prompto says. It might be Noctis' imagination, but he feels that Prompto must be looking at him like he's some animal that will startle with sudden movement. Prompto probably thinks he's either a dick or a ditz. Which one is worse?

After a couple of minutes of chewing their lunches (and sneaking furtive glances, at least on Noct's part), Prompto speaks up. "I take photographs, too. Y'know, for fun. That's where all my free time goes."

Noct looks over.

"So, you go fishing and you play video games. What video games?" Prompto asks now. He raises an eyebrow. "You can't dodge this time."

Without realizing it, he laughs. Soon, Prompto is laughing along, teasing him.

The staccato of their laughs blending together in the noontime air is pretty nice.

Honestly, it's soulmate-worthy.

 

**+**

 

One summer day, Noct invites Prompto over. For his part, Prompto has never asked to come over, never asks about the palace or how many servants Noctis has or what-have-you. His questions are mostly limited to Noct's training and the extra homework help he gets to score all of those As. Noct has told Prompto stories about Ignis and Gladio, and they've asked after Prompto (whom he is naturally protective of, given their ravenous natures. Details are very sparse). But it just feels natural, to ask Prompto over. He doesn't give it a second thought when he sends the text.

 

**Prompto**  
_Hey, wanna come over? Ignis just baked like, a dozen berry tarts_  
12:01

 

He doesn't get a response until twenty minutes later, and it's not exactly a satisfying one.

 

_i've got to work today. sorry buddy_  
12:23

 

He finds himself frowning at his phone and immediately stops. He sends another text. It's not exactly his style to be so forthcoming, but he's _really_ bored at the palace now that it's summertime.

 

_You wanna come over tomorrow then? I'm dying of boredom without y  
_ [message saved to drafts]

 

_You wanna come over tomorrow then? King's Knight?_  
12:25

 

_DUDE don't tempt me!! really gotta get on my summer reading  
_ 12:26

 

Noct reads Prompto's message like it's been typed out by an alien. _Summer reading_? Prompto's no slouch in the classroom, like a solid B kind of student, but doing his summer reading _this_ early into summer is definitely not in his friend's repertoire. What is going on?

Soon enough, Prompto's lack of questioning about the palace and Noctis' title starts to feel less like respectful distance and more like _avoidance_. Noct extends two more invitations which are artfully dodged with invitations to the arcade instead.

Finally, one day after a couple of hours of _Justice Monsters V_ , their peaceful walk to Kenny's from the arcade turns into a run out of the rain. They duck under the awning of a bakery, its delicious smells of bread and pastries muted under the rainfall.

"I'm gonna call Ignis," he tells Prompto, whipping out his phone.

Prompto's hair is sopping, the usual bright blond of it a dirtier gold in the rain. "I'll wait with you, then."

Something in Prompto's tone has Noct's intuition flickering. "You're coming with, right?"

Prompto's fingers go to the strands of hair at the back of his head, curling over the nape of his neck with the rain. "Ah, I'll just walk back to my place after you get picked up. No big."

Noct watches the slow, methodical type of fidgeting Prompto has going. "You can't be serious. It's pouring and we're like, at least fifteen minutes away from your place. Probably more."

Prompto looks genuinely surprised. "How do you know that?"

Noct sighs, a little embarrassed to admit how closely he's been paying attention to his friend. It's kind of necessary when said friend safeguards his personal information so dearly. "When we part ways after school, you always turn right at the river junction. The first neighbourhood isn't for like, ten minutes after that. And we're not that far from school, so... yeah."

"Dude," Prompto says, but it's an awed sort of tone, not a disbelieving one like he fears. "You're like... some kind of private eye."

Noct just laughs, shaking his head. "Nah. Just kinda got curious. You don't share much."

Prompto moves on to fidgeting with one of his wristbands. "Oh. Sorry."

Crap, this was _not_ his intention. He puts a hand on Prompto's shoulder. "Hey, don't be sorry. I just"—he shrugs, playing it off as casually as possible—"care about my best friend, you know?"

Prompto looks up, and with his dripping wet hair and fragile expression, he looks remarkably like a near-drowned puppy. "I'm... your best friend?"

Noct parts his lips before he really has anything to say. Prompto's eyes dart to his mouth immediately, waiting for his response.

"Of course," he says, feeling strangely breathless. "Un-unless you don't want to be."

Prompto's eyes widen. "Of course I'd want to be! I just didn't know if you thought of us that way," he admits.

Noct lets out a chuckle. He laughs a lot more with Prompto around. He's probably laughed more in this whole past year than he has in the previous five. "Well, I guess we need those friendship bracelets now."

Prompto smiles. "Dude. You're so embarrassing."

"Me?" he laughs back. "Never."

They're standing there under the awning, smiling like a couple of idiots when a pair of headlights swing across the cobblestone.

"Hey, it's Ignis. Come on, Prompto," Noct says, already opening the car door.

There's a second of hesitation, but it's long enough to seize at his windpipe, stealing his breath. If Prompto says no after all of _that_ —

"Yeah. Okay," Prompto acquiesces, stepping up to the car.

He slides over on the seat so that Prompto can sit too. "Ignis, this is Prompto," he introduces, "Prompto, meet Ignis."

"Hi," Prompto says sparingly, not seeming to know what to do with himself. He kind of perches on the seat, as if afraid to get it dirty.

"Hello, Prompto. Good to finally meet you," Ignis says, looking over his shoulder.

Prompto shoots Noct a questioning look.

"Don't worry about it," he says, under his breath.

Ignis starts again with a particular sort of leading tone. "You're surprised, I understand. Noct has simply been... more vibrant as of the past year or so. Full of new stories and interests. He mentions _your_ name quite a bit—"

" _That's enough_ , thanks Ignis," he cuts in.

_Thanks for nothing, you traitor._ He shoots a glare at Ignis through the rearview, who is evidently expecting it, seeing as he winks back at the same time. Yeah, embarrass him in front of his best friend. Whatever. All in a day's work for Ignis.

He sneaks a look at Prompto. Prompto seems confused at best and nervous at worst. But not about what Ignis said, it would seem. "Hey, Noct?"

"Yeah?"

Prompto turns to him now, angling his shoulders down. "What should I say? How do I act?"

"What do you mean?" he asks back.

Prompto's fidgeting returns. He rotates one of his wristbands a fraction of an inch at a time around his wrist. "Like, when I meet the King."

Realization hits Noct like a freight train.

All of this time. _All of this time_ , it was just nerves over meeting his _dad_! And _anyone_ would be nervous to meet the King!

He answers honestly. "My dad's pretty busy most of the time. I don't even know if we'll see him today."

"Really?" Prompto's expression betrays his relief. He edits himself though, trying to school his expression back to a neutral one.

Noct feels his lips pull up at a corner. "Yeah."

Prompto's gaze darts out the window, then back to Noct. "So, I'll be meeting everyone else? Dustin, Monica, Gladiolus?"

"Probably."

"And what do I say to them?" Prompto asks. Though he's less tense, there's still nerves somewhere in him—his neck cranes forward a little too much.

Noct gives a small chuckle. "Just... do whatever? You don't need to stand on ceremony. You're a normal Crown City citizen. They get it."

"Wha—really?"

He turns to Prompto. "Really."

Prompto gives him a smile so full of joy, so _pure_ , that he has to look away and laugh.

 

**+**

 

Noct has such a good time with Prompto, all of the time, every time, that he often forgets that they're soulmates. Is that weird? But he has his answer finally, for why the universe decided on the two of them. They're clearly the best of friends. Even if it's not the destined romance that so many have, Noct can't be anything but incredibly, selfishly happy for himself that he and Prompto get to be best friends forever. Prompto rounds him out, his bubbly, kind nature smoothing out Noct's pricklier edges. Prompto's enduring niceness reminds him to be a better person, constantly, and not in a bad way at all. And he likes to think that his prudence keeps Prompto out of unnecessary trouble—not that they're trouble-averse, or anything. They get into plenty of it together.

But there's one small thing. It's not _exactly_ small, but it feels surmountable, given the fact that he's already come to terms with it. It's that even though they're soulmates, he wonders if Prompto knows. He knows his first words to Prompto weren't exactly special— _are you okay?_ —so Prompto could've discounted them long ago.

(A secret: Noct has written out _are you okay?_ dozens of times across countless sheets of paper, as if unsure of his own words and his own script.)

He's a bit nervous. Prompto has never treated him differently because he's the Prince, and he doesn't want Prompto's behaviour toward him to change just because he knows that they're soulmates. He has Ignis' calm rationale spooling through his mind as a speech, just in case. But mostly, he trusts that Prompto won't change.

One day at the palace when he's sure that there are no ears on them, he brings it up. "Hey, Prom?"

Prompto is sprawled out across the lower half of his bed, playing _King's Knight_. His eyes don't leave the screen, but his voice is warm as always. "Yeah?"

Noct pretends to be playing as well, phone out in front of him, but he's really watching Prompto's profile. "Could I ask you about... your soulmark?"

Prompto looks over immediately, face lighting up. "Oh, yeah? I thought that you weren't supposed to talk about it until you turned eighteen."

He blinks a bit in surprise. Prompto never seems to concern himself with political things, but it makes sense that he'd know about the rule—it is a big part of their country's history. "Um, you're right. I'm not."

Prompto reads him easily. He drops his phone on the bed without a thought, not even taking the time to lock the screen. "Oh, so this is like, a secret talk! Dude, my lips are completely sealed."

That elicits a slight chuckle from him. As nervous as he is about this, he trusts Prompto. "I wanted to ask you about yours, actually. You have one, right?"

"Yeah," Prompto says. He sits up on the bed, his shirt temporarily pulling up on his torso. The flash of skin draws Noct's eye, but before he knows it Prompto is edging closer toward him, propped up on the pillows.

Prompto stops close enough for their knees to touch. "Got it the day before I turned eleven. Crazy early, right?" His right hand lands on his left wristband.

Noct feels his breath catch. An irrational fear grips him then—what if Prompto's words _aren't_ what he expects? Even though it feels so right, what if he's just been hoodwinked by the Astrals or something?

What if—what if he and Prompto _aren't_ soulmates?

(The fleeting thought is too painful to linger on.)

Prompto pulls off the green wristband—

And Noct's gaze lands on the indelible ink on the inside of Prompto's wrist: _are you okay?_ The writing looks exactly like his. His eyes dart up to Prompto's own.

"Pretty useless words, huh?" Prompto says. "I swear, everybody and their grandma could be my soulmate."

He frowns a little at the wording. "Well, not exactly—"

But right then, a scratching comes at the window. He looks over, annoyed, until he sees Umbra. He gets up to let the dog in.

"Dude! I've never been around for when your notebook comes!" Prompto exclaims, hopping off of the bed, too. The wristband is back in place.

Reluctantly, he plucks the notebook from Umbra's back. He'll have to tell Prompto another time, then.

 

**+**

 

It's the night of their high school graduation banquet, and Prompto is being _horrendously slow_.

"Prom, we're gonna be late!" he hollers down the hall.

"Dude, _my hair_!" Prompto yells back from the bathroom, where presumably he is having the battle of a lifetime with his blond locks.

It's a rare night at Prompto's house for them. Prompto's parents are almost never around, and tonight is no exception. (In fact, he's only seen them in the one photo Prompto keeps near his bed. Never in real life.) The house is kept meticulously clean by a maid that comes once a week, and a gardener comes in the summer to maintain their backyard. Otherwise, all Prompto's parents seem to do in their house is sleep, and sometimes not even that as they frequently leave on long business trips. Their house is nice and far too big for just the three of them. Noct recognizes when adults throw money at things, believing it will make up for a lack of time and attention. After all, he is the Crown Prince.

But most of the time, Prompto acts like it doesn't bother him, so because of social constructs and like, _manners_ , Noct never comments on it. He doesn't know why Prompto wanted to get ready at his place tonight, but Noct wasn't going to say no. If they were at the palace, Ignis would probably be trying to shove enough gel in their hair to give it the tensile strength of steel, and Gladio would be lecturing them about drinking alcohol too soon (which, yeah, they might do. Who knows, really).

"Ignis is picking us up in fifteen minutes!" he calls down the hall, giving Prompto a time limit on his hair.

"Oh, crap," Prompto responds, his voice slightly muffled.

Noct lies back on Prompto's bed, spreading his arms out to the sides like a starfish. "Do I need to come in there?"

"Dude, don't," Prompto insists.

Noct flops over onto his side. It probably messes up his own hair, but whatever. He kind of has permanent bedhead anyway. "Okay, good. 'Cause I wasn't gonna," he calls. From his new position on Prompto's bed, he can see the outline of a camera on a low shelf. It niggles at him before he remembers it as the camera Prompto carried in elementary. The sight of it brings him back to when they were eleven and were both horribly friendless. He smiles. How far they've come.

"Have some sympathy! Not all of us can pull off the bedhead like you can," Prompto says now, but Noct's attention is on the camera.

He pulls it off of its space on the shelf, examining its casing. It's still in great condition, even though Prompto uses a different, newer camera now, bought with the money from his part-time job. This little red point-and-shoot must've been a gift from his parents—it's inscribed on the bottom with _To our dear Prompto_.

The battery is probably dead, but he flicks the switch anyway.

And... it's not dead. The screen lights up instantly, loading the latest image on the camera, one of a dog. Noct smiles. Prompto is always pointing out dogs on their walks outside, often times even from the car when Ignis drives them back to the palace.

He doesn't know what makes him do it, or even if he's thinking straight, but he goes through more photos on Prompto's old camera, flicking straight to the oldest.

There's so many photos of animals and sunsets. He takes only a few seconds to examine each image, flicking past them all at an even speed. Noct recognizes every landscape in the photos, most taken in either morning or afternoon light.

But then the photos start showing some irregularity. There are photos of the sunrise, not the sunset, and there are suddenly a lot of different pathways, almost as if Prompto were mapping out a route.

It only hits him that this could be a mistake when he sees the first mirror selfie, and by then it's too late.

The photo was clearly taken in the early morning, the lighting feeble, but still enough to make out the tank top and the green striped shorts and the stony face behind glasses.

It's eleven year-old Prompto.

Noct stares at the screen, almost not comprehending. Is this what Prompto looked like then? So... deeply unhappy? How did he not remember?

But then a new thought comes to him: why does Prompto have this photo anyway? Why did he take it?

Feeling a strange discomfort start in his stomach, he keeps flipping through.

There are more selfies. More in the same style: neutral face, white tank top, wristbands,  different coloured boxers and socks. Every photo has been taken in this room, in the mirror to Noct's right. The face Prompto wears in all of them makes him squeamish, so he flicks and flicks and flicks—

But then he starts noticing that there are _a lot_ of these photos. Daily, it would seem. And Noct has been through something like a hundred with no end in sight. _Flick, flick, flick._

One photo catches his eye. He stops holding his thumb on the dial.

In this photo, Prompto is clearly taller. The baby fat in his face is mostly gone, and his legs seem to be more muscular.

_Flick, flick, flick._

The next one Noct stops on has Prompto even taller. He's not wearing glasses anymore. The part that Noct notices most though is that Prompto's wearing a smile in this photo. He finds his own face relaxing, that odd feeling dissipating from his stomach.

_Flick, flick, flick._

_Holy shi_ —

The last photo that catches Noct's eye must be a recent one. The setting and the lighting is the same as always, early morning in this very bedroom. Prompto looks to be the same height as he is now. He's got a ghost of a smile on his lips and black boxer briefs tight against his hips. He's not wearing a shirt or pants.

Prompto is _ripped_.

Noct stares at the photo long and hard. His eyes follow the halo of blond hair over to Prompto's slight smile. Then down to his collarbones, over the taut muscle of his shoulders and down to his toned arms. Prompto's deltoids and biceps are well-defined, and Noct tries to think of a time that he's ever seen Prompto's bare arms—he finally concludes that there aren't any. The slight bit of shadow and light that highlight a vein or two popping out from Prompto's arms seems like something he'd remember, because seeing his arms inspires a bit of jealousy.

And then there's Prompto's _torso_. Noct takes in the tautness of pecs and the slight rippling along his upper ribs. Prompto's abs are _beautiful,_ distinct against the rest of his stomach but not segmented in the inhuman, washboard way that Gladio's are. Noct's eyes wander down past a innie belly button to Prompto's quads, which are impressively large given Prompto's otherwise wiry look.

Noct swallows over a suddenly very dry throat. He... shouldn't have gone through these photos. He feels an odd mix of guilt and jealousy settle at the base of his skull. Prompto obviously worked hard to shed weight, so why doesn't he feel proud of his friend? Why does he just feel... weird? Because if he's honest, it's not just guilt or jealousy he feels.

But right then, Prompto calls from the bathroom. "Noct, I gotta throw in the towel. Help?"

"Be right there!" he calls, hoping his tone doesn't betray his frantic turning off and replacement of the camera back to its spot on the low shelf. He gets up and off of Prompto's bed and takes the few steps to the bathroom.

Prompto's sleeves are pushed up to his elbows and the first two buttons of his dress shirt are undone. Noct tries not to focus too hard on the dip in Prompto's collarbones.

"I know, it's a total wreck!" Prompto crows, taking Noct's silence as a shocked one. " _Du-ude_ , you gotta rescue my hair!"

Noct blinks away his distracted air, giving his full attention to Prompto's problem. Prompto's hair isn't actually bad, it's just... _tall_.

He laughs a little while reaching forward and up to touch Prompto's hair. The hair of the whole front of his head is swooped upward. "How did your hair even get like this?"

Prompto is looking up worriedly, as if trying to see his own bangs and what Noct is doing to them. "I don't know! I was just trying to tame the swoop, but it rebelled! I totally made it worse!"

Noct smiles. In the tight quarters of the bathroom, they have to stand close, but it's for the best since he'll be doing Prompto's hair for probably the next few minutes. "It's not so bad. We've just got to get your bangs in check. Where's the wax?"

Prompto holds up the little tub of hair wax. Noct dips his fingers in, then turns his torso to block Prompto's view of the mirror.

Before long, he's done. "I think you look pretty good, if I say so myself," Noct, would-be-hairdresser, says.

Prompto examines his hair in the mirror. He narrows his eyes, shooting himself a curious look. Noct couldn't tame the top layers of Prompto's bangs, so he's left them to curl upward in true imitation of a chocobo. But the rest of Prompto's bangs frame his face nicely. It's a good look for Prompto.

"Noct, are you sure I look okay?" Prompto asks, voice wracked with uncertainty, even as he buttons the jacket of his suit a few minutes later. Ignis had insisted on tailored suits for the both of them, formalwear fanatic that he is, so Prompto's suit fits him like a glove. Noct has never seen Prompto in the suit until tonight. He looks good. _Really good_.

Noct feels that weird sensation creep back again, the one he got looking through Prompto's photos. Noct turns back to his best friend and clears his throat, avoiding eye contact. "Yeah. You look good, Prom."

Prompto, surprised at Noct's change in demeanor, accepts the assessment. "O-okay."

When Ignis picks them up, Noct still hasn't shaken the feeling—

But by the start of the banquet, everything's back to normal. Prompto rolls through the crowd with ease, Noct an odd, attention-drawing shadow behind him. Prompto makes a wisecrack and Noct feels the laughter bubble up as naturally as before.

Now it just has to _stay_ that way.

 

**+**

 

It doesn't stay that way.

In fact, it gets worse. _Much worse_.

He's always kind of known, in the back of his mind, that Prompto is really hot. He noticed right away that Prompto's colouration isn't exactly common around the Crown City, the blond hair and blue eyes making him stand out. But now, it's more like that Noct thinks Prompto's eyes are a _pretty_ blue. Like, reminiscent of oceans or something. He tries reading poetry to find the right words for how blue Prompto's eyes are, but then in a moment of lucidity he catches himself and stops.

And when Prompto periodically reaches across his torso to tap something on his phone screen, his breath stops every time. _Every time_. He almost gets to the point where he has to remind himself to breathe, which is stupid.

His ears are particularly attuned to Prompto's voice, able to pick him easily out of a crowd. It's something he was aware of before that he only really _notices_ now, mostly because when the timbre of someone's voice even slightly matches Prompto's, his heart beats a little faster. It's embarrassing, how his body betrays him.

He's seriously losing it. They're _platonic_ _soulmates_! (Which he _still_ hasn't told Prompto, crap.) He can't... he can't be doing this, whatever this is. Prompto is his _friend_. He can't betray his friend's trust.

From his seat across from Noct at Kenny's, Prompto reaches across and steals a fry off of Noct's plate. Prompto's left wrist, the one bearing the words that proves their Fated connection, is covered as always. But it's like Noct can see straight through the fabric, those words flashing at him, red-hot.

_Are you okay?_

No, he most certainly isn't.

 

**+**

 

He knows that he has to tell Prompto that they're soulmates, and he wants to tell Prompto really badly. It might even shed some light on why he's been so... weird lately. (He knows why, he just won't admit it to himself.) But his father has called him to the King's chambers for a rare talk, and he just has a nagging feeling that it's about his soulmark.

They haven't spoken about the soulmark since that first time. There's been no need to. But Noct is nineteen now, and they can't hide the truth from the public forever. As far as they're concerned, Noct has no soulmark yet. But the longer a Prince remains without a soulmark, the more speculation is thrown onto their right to rule. Without a Fated partner, a King seems incomplete, incapable of providing a family to continue the line, even destined _not_ to rule. Previous Councils have grown restless, mutiny on their minds. The fact that Noct has received his mark will be announced, and soon, he feels.

King Regis proves him right. "Prince Noctis, I've called you here to speak about your soulmark."

Straight to the point. His father wastes all of his diplomacy on the foreign envoys and saves none for his son. Which is how he prefers it, really.

"Alright," he says ambiguously, "what exactly do you want to talk about?"

His father looks at him with an indecipherable sort of expression, his mouth a straight line and his eyes startlingly hard. "The Council insists on the announcement of your soulmark's appearance. As far as they are concerned, you possess your mark regardless of the truth."

"But I have it," he blurts, feeling childish as he always does around his father. His father, so bulletproof, so steely in every regard. "We don't need to lie."

"It is for the better that they don't know the real truth," Regis tells him, stepping close. "Your soulmark is your dearest secret until the day you find your Fated. This is a political move, Prince Noctis. Niflheim and its territories are spreading rumours of your right to rule."

Ignis had never briefed him on _that_. He wonders just how edited the reports he receives are.

His father continues, the light in his eyes sparking to a flame. "I had wanted to conceal the truth for as long as possible. With your soulmark, we invite the prying eyes of spies. But without a soulmark, you are lonely and bereft of your Fated, unfit to rule. There can be no doubt in the eyes of our citizens, nor in those of our enemies." His father turns to him, his cape cutting the air. "Someday, you will be King. They must know that."

He doesn't know what to say, so he looks away.

He can't tell his father that he's found his soulmate. He can't tell his father that his soulmate is a _man,_ especially not now. Shit, what is he supposed to do? Was he an idiot all this time, to think that it would be fine? That he could take a Queen who isn't his soulmate? How can he rule like _this_?

_I don't want to be King_ , he thinks, looking at his father. His father, who has aged from the effort of maintaining the wall that protects their beautiful Insomnia. His father, who has done absolutely everything for their people at great cost to himself. He doesn't ever want to be King because it means that his father—

"Make the announcement," he says, turning quickly away. He runs out of the room, trying not to think about anything other than the sound of his feet hitting the floor. And he runs and runs and runs until he's tired enough to fall straight to sleep.

 

**+**

 

The announcement is made the day after turns twenty.

But what happens the day before _that_ is even bigger.

 

**+**

 

It's his twentieth birthday.

And he has cake in his hair. And smeared across his face. And probably in his lap.

Gladio guffaws entirely too loudly near his ear. Noct is probably being dramatic, but he thinks he feels his eardrum collapse.

"Happy birthday, Noct!" Gladio thunders. He's really _on_ tonight, way looser than normal. He hasn't dispensed any advice at all for the last few hours, which must be some kind of record. (Everyone thinks that because Ignis is so put-together that he'd be the one nagging Noct, but it's actually Gladio. Guy cannot stay out of Noct's business to save his life.)

Noct doesn't even try to swipe the frosting off of his face. "Ignis, washroom," he says dismally, which only makes Gladio laugh even more. Now that Noct thinks of it, it's probably the beer that Gladio's drinking that has him so exuberant. Now that Noct is finally of drinking age, Gladio brought him some of his favourites—he just opened the beer first.

"You've been strangely quiet," Ignis comments, leading him to the washroom by the wrist. They're at his apartment in the Citadel, not the palace, so at least the walk is a short one. His feet hit tile and he hears Ignis open the faucet.

He bends forward, finding the stream of water. When his face is free enough of frosting and cake, he responds, "I'm just not sure what else to do, is all. What do you think?"

He hears Ignis lean against the doorframe. The silence stretches a bit too long. "I understand that Prompto was invited tonight. Will he be making it?"

He should've known that Ignis would be perceptive enough to see through him. He _has_ been worried that Prompto wouldn't make it. Prompto sent him a text earlier today about having to work an extra shift, and that he'd make it to the party late. He had responded with something along the lines of _we'll be waiting for you_ , or something equally dorky. Even if he's recently hopelessly attracted to his best friend and making it awkward for himself every second they're together, he'd still rather Prompto be here than anywhere else.

Ignis waits patiently for a response as Noct scrubs frosting from his eyebrows.

"He said he'd be late," he tells Ignis. "We'll keep the party going until he gets here, right?"

Ignis' gaze is sharp, but all he says is, "Of course."

Noct reaches for his facewash. "Don't tell me Gladio smashed a cake into my face that you spent actual time baking," he says now, trying to lighten the mood. He doesn't mean to be such a buzzkill.

"Of course not," Ignis says, adjusting his spectacles. "Store-bought. The actual cake is sitting safely in the fridge."

"Good," Noct says, getting the cake out of his hair now, "because this tastes like crap."

Ignis smirks. "You little rascal."

Noct smiles for the first time that night, just a small one. "It's a compliment, Ignis."

Ignis rolls his eyes.

And just as Noct rids the last of the gross cake from his hair and face, the doorbell rings. Prompto!

"I'll get it," Gladio calls to them.

He finds a towel quickly, drying his face. It has to be Prompto!

Sure enough, he hears Prompto greet Gladio and Gladio greet Prompto back. But then there's a squeal, like the sound of rubber against tile, and a series of thumps and Gladio shouting. Crap, what just happened?

Heart pounding, Noct rounds the corner of the hallway.

Gladio is holding a very red-faced Prompto up by the armpits. Prompto's legs are totally collapsed beneath him, and attached to the sole of his left shoe is a healthy smattering of frosted cake.

"Prompto!" he calls, dashing forward immediately. Ignis trails him into the kitchen.

"N-Noct! Hey, buddy," Prompto says from about a foot down, where Gladio still has his forearms hooked around Prompto's armpits and is slowly helping him to stand.

"You okay there?" he asks, eyes darting over Prompto's face. Aside from the blush of embarrassment, Prompto looks untouched, but it can't hurt to ask.

Prompto's ears only turn pinker. Suddenly, Ignis darts forward, removing Prompto's shoes for him—and the smudgy cake with them. "Thanks, Ignis," Prompto utters softly, sounding mortified.

Seeing Gladio's arms around Prompto and Ignis' care while removing Prompto's shoes makes him feel oddly out of place. But he shakes it off. They're best friends, after all. "You made it," he says.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Prompto says back, sounding a little more like himself now that he's standing. He holds up a neatly wrapped box—it must've been in his hands the whole time—and offers it to Noct. "Got your present right here, buddy!"

He feels surprised, then genuinely touched. "Prom, you didn't have to."

Prompto just tilts his head at him, mock-disappointed. "No way are you getting away with that gracious Prince stuff today, man. I wanted to! Now, open it!"

He lets himself smile for real, gaze moving from Prompto's eager face to the present in his hands. He is pretty curious as to what it could be. He doesn't receive presents often.

He tears the wrapping paper to reveal a plain white box. Then he folds back the topmost flap and looks inside. "No way," he says, immediately looking up at Prompto. Prompto only waggles his eyebrows, which lets loose a nervous laugh from him.

"What is it?" Gladio asks.

By way of answer, he carefully lifts the fishing reel out of the box. It's clean and shiny, clearly new, and it's fancier than any reel he's ever seen. His eyes travel over it quickly, trying to place the make and model.

Gladio lets out a long whistle at the same time Ignis lets out an exclaimation, "Well done, Prompto."

Prompto beams at him, hands squarely on his hips. He looks so proud of himself that it's truly endearing. "You won't find another one like it! Modified it myself. Blend of Insomnian and Altissian technology like the llymlaen reel, but I found some great carbon-fibre gears instead of steel ones. And the spoke mechanism is connected to the wheel by this crazy rubber hybrid that I custom cut, so when you're reeling, it's extra responsive!" Prompto says, practically bouncing in place. It's obvious that he put a lot of work and care into making this. He's got a giant grin on, and he's _adorable_. "Do you love it, or what?"

Before he's even made the decision to, he takes the steps forward to throw his arms around Prompto. He surprises the whole room, including himself. "I love it," he says, his face in Prompto's hair. It tickles, but he doesn't care.

After a couple of seconds of recovery, Prompto lets out a laugh and hugs him back. "Happy birthday, Noct."

After that, the night improves considerably. Gladio pops the cork off of a bottle of champagne he brought, insisting that Noct's first drink be "a classy one", and Noct drinks the whole flute in about ten minutes. It's bubbly and kind of sweet and it goes down easily. He's on his second flute in no time flat. Prompto only sneaks sips from him because his birthday isn't for a couple of months, and Gladio is kind of overbearing about drinking underage.

The three of them sing _Happy Birthday_ to him kind of loudly, but he smiles the whole time. Gladio has the best singing voice and Prompto has the worst (but honestly, it only adds to Prompto's charm, in Noct's eyes). Ignis serves them the scrumptious cake he made, and it tastes extra sweet with all of them there, swapping stories about previous birthdays around his kitchen counter. Noct doesn't know if he's had a better night in months. Just being with his friends is so _nice_ , and the champagne is really relaxing him. He feels like he's on a cloud. He doesn't want the night to end.

But at around 1 in the morning, Ignis stands up from the couch. "I should go, Noct. I'll pick you up tomorrow for the announcement," he says.

From his spot on the couch next to Prompto, he shifts minimally. He tries to rise to say a proper farewell, but the champagne has made him kind of uncoordinated, and he falls into Prompto's lap. Prompto, even though he's comparatively sober, bursts into laughter.

Gladio stands. "Stay sitting, lightweight," he says. Though the words are brash, the tone is warm. "I'm gonna step out, too. Don't drink anymore. Happy birthday, Noct." He leans down to give Noct a handshake-hug, and at least Noct is coordinated enough for that. But he laughs through the whole thing, especially since he's half in Prompto's lap and Prompto won't stop rocking back and forth like some kind of human earthquake.

Eventually, Gladio and Ignis are standing by the door. "Alright boys, get a good sleep," Ignis says, knowing that they won't. And then he closes the door behind him.

"Shiva, I thought they'd never leave," Noct says, immediately trying to stand. Gladio made him stop drinking a half hour ago, but he really needs more champagne. Finally, he manages to successfully get on his feet and starts heading to the fridge.

"Noct, hey! I think you're already pretty tipsy, dude," Prompto says, springing up and off the couch after him.

He whips around and almost throws himself off-balance in doing so. But he thinks he conceals it pretty well by throwing his arms out. "You're the best, you know? That reel is the most beautiful piece of technology I'll ever own."

Prompto smiles. "Thanks, Noct. I worked real hard on it! But I'm still not letting you drink any more champagne."

Noct laughs a bit too loud. "Dammit. I thought I was being really clever with that one," he says. He continues walking to the fridge anyway.

Prompto darts up alongside him and throws out his arms. "Noct, we can totally have fun without getting massive hangovers. And getting beat up by Gladio."

"He won't know!" Noct insists, throwing his arms up as well.

"Dude, don't make me do this," Prompto says, crossing his arms and adopting a stern look. He's so hot that Noct could _die_. Okay, maybe not _die_...

But then without realizing it, Noct is moving. And he's not using any of his muscles, or at least he doesn't think he is. And he's moving backwards? And he's upside down?

"Memo to self: you're hard to handle when you're drunk," Prompto's voice floats down to him. But where is Prompto?

With a jolt, Noct is suddenly sitting on his couch. Prompto looms above him, but then he joins him in reclining, putting his feet up.

"Hold on," Noct says, squinting. He blinks hard, putting two and two together. "Did you just _carry me here_?"

Prompto shrugs. "Like a drunk sack of potatoes."

Noct leans toward Prompto. "You _did not_ just call me a drunk sack of potatoes." His eyes are following Prompto's lips, which are a really nice pink right now.

Prompto laughs, throwing a sassy look Noct's way. And because it's Prompto, the look isn't very sassy at all, which only makes him laugh. "Uh, I think I just did," Prompto asserts.

Noct tries to scoff and it turns into an ugly snort. "You won't let me drink, you call me a sack of potatoes, you're like, the worst soulmate ever, you know that?"

Prompto looks at him then, the jewel blue of his eyes so alight with happiness and his lips so perfectly pink. He custom-made Noct a fishing reel and he saw through Noct's loneliness and he's such a good best friend—and he's everything that Noct wants, everything that he didn't even know he wants—

It's only a short distance between them, and Noct closes it instantly. He clambers into Prompto's lap, one hand against Prompto's chest and the other braced against the couch. He looks into Prompto's eyes for a split second, drowning in the blue, before closing his own eyes and pressing his lips to Prompto's.

His mouth is wet, and he shifts clumsily against Prompto's soft lips, making quiet smacking sounds. Prompto is so warm beneath his hands, and he feels his own temperature ratchet up in spite of the goosebumps rising along his arms. The kiss is probably a terrible one because he's drunk and he's basically all wobbly limbs, pressing Prompto back into the couch. But it's still better than any kiss he's dreamt of, because it's Prompto and it's real. He's kissing his soulmate, and it couldn't feel more right. _He's kissing his_ —

Prompto yanks his head back. "Hold on, did you say—did you say _soulmate_?"

Without Prompto supporting him, Noct stumbles forward, nose bonking into Prompto's chest. He couldn't have said—"I didn't say that," he blurts, trying to right himself. But even to his own ears, it sounds like a lie.

Prompto moves to stand up, which only makes Noct tumble further, his face wedging itself into the couch cushions. By the time he rolls over, Prompto is standing several feet away. The lack of shared body heat hits him abruptly.

"You did. You said _soulmate_ ," Prompto repeats. His chest rises and falls rapidly, breaths coming quickly. " _We're soulmates_? And you knew this _whole time_?"

Oh, no. Oh no no no this is not how this is supposed to go. He has to make this better, he has to make this better _for Prompto_ , because Prompto deserves to know, and like an _idiot_ he hasn't told Prompto for so long.

"Yeah," he says, still able to taste Prompto on his lips, "I mean, yes. We're soulmates."

"How do you know?" Prompto asks, and the question is so sharp against his dulled senses that he nearly recoils. This is not how this is supposed to go. He feels his heart start to submerge.

"My mark," he says through a throat that suddenly feels tight—and this isn't right, he shouldn't be telling Prompto all of this _drunk_ , but he has to, he owes Prompto answers—"my soulmark is the first thing you said to me."

Prompto stares at him, confusion in his eyes and conflict in every line of his body. Then he takes his left wristband off and rotates his forearm so that he can see the tender inside of his wrist. Noct knows that he's reading the script there: _are you okay?_ Noct knows that he's wondering about the writing, if the scrawl matches Noct's.

And then Prompto's gaze darts up to _him_ , and Noct doesn't know what he's thinking, but he knows that the silence can't be good.

He feels his heart sink.

He negotiates his body into sitting. "It's okay, I get it," he says quietly, against an oncoming headache.

"What?"

Noct shakes his head. He can't quite meet Prompto's eyes. "It's okay. Lots of soulmates aren't romantic. I talked to Ignis about it. We don't—we're not— _you're_ not—like, obligated to stay with me, or anything."

And although Prompto hasn't been saying much, Noct feels the silence truly press in on them then. He waits with bated breath for Prompto's response, allowing his gaze to drift upward, up to Prompto—

Prompto is looking back at him with the mightiest glare. "So, why did you kiss me?"

_Because I've been dreaming about it. Because I've been wanting to. Because you're everything, you're everything I never knew I needed_ _and I love it, I love_ —

He swallows it all, all of the words that he can never say—especially not now, now that he knows that Prompto could never want him back, and _shit_ that really hurts to think—

His mind is numb and his breaths are fast and his lips tingle. He can't think of a reason that won't hurt either of them. "I don't know," he lies.

After a pause, Prompto's voice breaks the silence. "You don't know," he says. He sounds older, colder.

The next thing Noct hears is the sound of the front door slamming shut.

 

**+**

 

All he can do after Prompto leaves is replay the last few moments in his brain.

He's startlingly sober now, his mouth dry and his breath rank, and his clothes are soaked through with cold sweat. He lies back on his bed in the dark and his thoughts drift up to the ceiling.

Is there anything he could've done, anything he could've said, for it _not_ to turn out this way?

Aside from _not telling Prompto at all_ , he can't think of a way. The timing was bad— _abysmal_ —but if Prompto wanted him back, he can't help but think that it would've gone differently.

He's just such an idiot. He's been such a fool this whole time, thinking that it would be fine. He's been living in a timeless fantasy, one where his responsibilities as Prince will never truly kick in, where his father lives forever, where his best friend is fine being robbed of a romantic soulmate and given a duty-bound Prince instead. Did he think that he could hide from the consequences?

If he's honest with himself, he's been falling for Prompto from the first day they met. Curiosity turned to interest, interest turned to like, like became love. Now that it's all over, he'll finally admit it to himself—he _loves_ Prompto.

This whole time, he was convinced that although they were soulmates, love was never going to be part of the equation. It can't be, not when he needs to provide an heir. But like an idiot, he went falling in love with his soulmate anyway.

And Prompto doesn't love him back.

In another universe, he hopes that there's a Prompto that kissed him back. A universe where this soulmate stuff doesn't exist, maybe even one where he isn't the Prince. He thinks about how warm Prompto was, the smell of his breath, sweet with birthday cake and champagne. Prompto's lips were so plush and soft, and the planes of his chest and stomach were hard and muscular. Noct thinks about Prompto's photographs again, how toned Prompto's pecs are and how beautiful his thighs are.

When he looks down at himself, he buries his head in his hands. He feels so ashamed. His arousal is laid bare.

Biting down on his lower lip, he takes off his underwear. Tattooed on his skin, glaring up at him, Prompto's words mock him: _Hello, Prince! I'd like to be frie_ —

With that, he takes himself in hand.

And as he works himself to completion, breath hitching, he thinks of his soulmate—of Prompto, and he wishes he could say that he doesn't want to love him, but he does, _he really does_ —and he sheds silent tears.

 

**+**

 

He doesn't want the next morning to come, but arrive it does.

He sleeps fitfully, too tired to stay awake but too distressed to sleep.

Ignis arrives at 9 in the morning, opening all of Noct's blinds and generally making a racket in the kitchen. But he makes Noct breakfast and brews coffee, which he hates the taste of but sorely needs. They spend the morning in silence in his apartment, sunlight streaming cheerfully—hatefully—in through the windows. He slowly wakes up, slowly comes to fully inhabit his body again. He simply has to make an appearance. His father will do all of the talking, which is a huge relief to him in this state. He doesn't feel much like interacting with people today. Luckily, the drive to the palace is just as silent as the rest of the morning. At least right up until they pass the first gate.

"For public relations purposes, the announcement is being made in the courtyard," Ignis tells him.

That's unconventional. Usually the announcement is made to just the throne room and the higher-ranking officials within it. The news then usually trickles down of its own accord to the public. But it doesn't take much deciphering to see why his father chose to announce the appearance of his soulmark in front of their regular Crown City citizens. Niflheim has forced his father's hand. If he thinks a bit harder (through the general feeling of fatigue and self-loathing), he realizes that he hardly ever sees his father anymore, as he bounces from meeting to meeting on Niflheim.

"Yeah, sure," is all he says. He turns to the window, but his stare is blank.

Ignis doesn't say much else. He's been reading Noct for years, and the fact that he doesn't break the silence is to his credit.

When they pass through the second gate, Noct sees the gathered crowd. There are _so many_  people, and the car only draws their eyes. He immediately sits further back into the car and away from the windows. He stays concealed until the last possible second.

He's supposed to act like the soulmark is a good thing. Something to be celebrated. It proves that he has a Fated, that one day he will be fit to rule. But he can only feel that thus far, his soulmark has been a curse.

This is what he thinks as he stands beside his father on the freshly rolled out carpet atop the raised platform. His father stands behind an impressive podium, one draped in red and gold finery, embossed with the Insominan seal along with his title: REGIS LUCIS CAELUM CXIII. His father begins with the general well-wishings of his people, and as he speaks, Noct's eyes wander over the crowd.

The Crownsguard has clearly selected citizens sympathetic to the Crown, as everyone looks ecstatic just to be there in front of them. There are a lot of families, a lot of children holding their parents' hands and riding on parents' shoulders to catch sight of the King and Prince.

But then his eyes catch a glimpse of blond.

Standing very close to the stage, close enough to make out his features, is Prompto.

Prompto seems to detect his gaze, looking up at him and directly into his eyes. His expression is careful: though his mouth is turned down, his eyes are guarded, a steely blue in the mid-morning sunlight.

He has to talk to Prompto. He has to make this _right_.

But his father goes on, and he has to stand there like nothing is wrong at all.

"It is therefore with deepest pride and fondest attachment, on the day proceeding the Prince's twentieth birthday, that I announce to the world," his father says, looking out on the crowd, "that the Royal Prince is possessed of his soulmark!"

The crowd reacts overwhlemingly positively, throwing up their hands, cheering, clapping. Their smiles are wide, their shouts are loud.

He lets their joy float right past him.

When the noise dies down, the King continues. But rather than conclude, he shifts his weight and looks back at Noct.

He's never seen his father look so conflicted in his life, and it sends ice straight into his veins. With such a look, he knows that something else is bound to happen, but he can't possibly predict it—

"It is also my pleasure to announce that in six months' time, we will have brokered a ceasefire with the Niflheim empire. And as a true symbol of peace, Prince Noctis and Lady Lunafreya of Tenebrae will be wed!"

As soon as the words leave his father's mouth, Noct knows to check his expression. He keeps his mouth from twitching into a frown, his forehead from creasing in confusion, his eyes from flying open in surprise. This—this simply can't be. How can he—how can Luna—

And then he remembers Prompto in the crowd.

Instantly, he searches for Prompto, forgetting the expression on his face entirely. He _has_ to talk to Prompto, now more than ever! He didn't know about this announcement, he doesn't _want_ to be married—

Prompto's face is completely hidden from view, his blond hair obscuring his expression. His head is bent. Through the density of surrounding bodies, Noct can see Prompto's hands wrung together.

When Prompto looks up at him, he feels that moment etch itself into his memory forever.

Prompto's expression is one of total hurt. As he turns away, losing himself in the crowd, Noct sees his face morph into one of anguish.

He wants to leap off of the stage and follow Prompto through the crowd, wants to push them all aside so he can grab Prompto by the shoulder. " _I don't want this. I don't want any of this. I want you,_ " he'd say. He can picture it so clearly.

But he's the Prince, and he's engaged, and so he doesn't.

 

-  [ ½ ]  -


	2. interlude: the hands that we're dealt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Regis feints, dodges and parries—all for the future King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 1, 2017: First and foremost, to those who read chapter one, and especially to those of you who subscribed for updates and left me comments—thank you, thank you, thank you! I really cannot say this enough. This story is my first stab at a soulmark AU and my first FFXV story, so I really had no way of predicting the response to this. I'm so happy that you've enjoyed chapter one, and I truly appreciate every kind word <3
> 
> Second, for anyone who subscribed and got like 29485 updates from this story, I'M SO SORRY. I ran into huge uploading problems that I finally figured out were caused by some formatting trouble, so even though the chapter would preview fine, when it posted it always disppeared. Grr.
> 
> So why did this update take nearly two months? Long story short, this universe and these characters were begging to be explored in more depth! As soon as I posted chapter one I started working on the next chapters and I realized that I needed to overhaul things in a big way. (I actually ended up scrapping about 8,000 words of an early draft for chapter three.) That's why this update is an "interlude" ~~a 6,000 word interlude~~ , and that's also why this story is expanding from the original two chapters to four!
> 
> That all said, I really hope you enjoy this chapter! And please leave your thoughts—I love reading them!

 

**+**

King Regis begins to suspect that Noctis is the Chosen King of Legend very early on.

Noctis receives his soulmark at the tender age of eleven, which is early for not only a royal, but for anyone. That is Regis' first indicator. Receiving the words that your Fated first speaks to you is no light matter, and not something the Astrals burden the young with often. But they saw fit to give Noctis his words as a child. In Regis' eyes, the words are a sign that Noctis will need his soulmate for strength sooner rather than later.

And then the omen comes to him in his sleep. Regis has never wanted this burden for his son, but the Astrals give him a vision, a nightmare: his son fighting to the death against invading forces, presumably Niflheimian in nature. Disaster after disaster curses Noctis, and he is forced to survive in increasingly desperate circumstances. Noctis is skinny, covered in blood and always, always alone. The last vision is of Noctis in pain, confused and heartbroken over the dead body of the Oracle. Bahamut whispers in his ear: _should Noctis stay in Insomnia against the invaders, this fate should certainly befall him._

After that nightmare, Regis wakes in a cold sweat. Moments later, he sheds tears for the first time in seven years—for the first time since his Beloved Aulea died. He cannot bear to see his only son burdened with so much strife.

But he doesn't begin to suspect other things about Noctis until Noctis turns seventeen, specifically _who_ he is fated for.

 

**+**

 

"Hello, father," Noctis greets him, on one of the rare evenings that they are able to dine together.

"Good evening, Noctis," he responds wearily from his position at the head of the table.

The Niflheim forces have begun reaching farther, claiming territory overseas with their terrifying mechanical armies. The news has the Council in an uproar, with several members demanding  greater protection for Insomnia and others advocating for relief to be sent to the ravaged areas. It's the ruthless nature of war, that they hold the lives of so many in their hands—choosing which lives to protect is never a desired task.

But Noctis' mind is elsewhere, it would seem, and Regis rather welcomes the change of topic. "I've been accepted into the University," Noctis says. As the first plate of food is placed in front of him, Regis notices Noctis' curl of lip at the vegetable soup. Some things never change, and Regis is incredibly grateful at that moment for his son's reliable disgust at any sort of vegetable.

His smile is wide and true. "That is good news, indeed," he says heartily. "The business program?"

Noctis' eyes darken a shade. "Yes."

Regis' intuition flares. He puts down his spoon. "You're not happy," he comments softly.

Noctis pauses, as if surprised at the words. "It's not that," he hedges.

"And what might it be?" he asks, careful not to use his King voice.

Noctis' gaze darts over the soup, the bouquet at the table and finally his own hands. But he simply shakes his head. "I don't know how to explain. I just see how others are excited... and I don't think I have the same feelings," he says, heaving a small sigh. He snatches up his spoon and starts in on the soup immediately. He must be quite embarrassed to willingly eat vegetable soup.

Regis observes his son for only a moment before taking up his own spoon. He speaks in measured tones, "You feel that you're missing a passion for your studies, then."

After swallowing his current mouthful of soup, Noctis grimaces. He still won't look at Regis, and Regis knows that this matter must lie close to his heart.

"It's just... Prompto is going into engineering, and it just _makes so much sense_ for him. He's good at it and he loves it, and he's already working with machinery all of the time. I just"—Noctis breaks off his thought, red-faced, and quickly morphs his sentence into a joke—"I wish there were a degree in fishing or something."

Regis chuckles like the sun rises and sets on his son. (As far as he's concerned, it basically does.) "Noctis, there's plenty that you're good at. It may not seem like it now, but the separation between your studies and your hobbies may turn out to be a good thing."

Rather than dismiss the possibility out of hand, Noctis gives it some thought. "I hope so, dad."

Ah, the use of _dad_ over _father_. That means that Noctis is feeling better. He clears his throat and directs the conversation down a lighter path. "You mentioned your friend Prompto. Will I ever get to meet this elusive friend of yours?"

Noctis bristles a little, though that might be over having to finish the entire bowl of soup. "It's up to you. He's been over a couple of times already," Noctis responds, a note of protectiveness in his voice.

"Ignis has reported as much," he admits. "When you invite him next, please let me know."

"Sure, dad," Noctis says.

The rest of the meal passes without too much banter, which is completely normal. He recognizes that doing something normal with his son will become rarer as the days pass. Taking supper together in the dining hall while the sun sets is something simple and pure, a moment he will draw on in the months and years to come. So he commits it to memory, the sight of Noctis picking the carrots off of his plate, and smiles.

 

**+**

 

When he finally does meet Prompto Argentum, it also becomes a memory he won't soon forget.

Noctis invites Prompto Argentum over for schoolwork, a laboratory write-up as Ignis tells it, and when Ignis leaves to pick them both up from the high school, Regis decides that he's had enough of the meetings for the day. (For the week, in reality, but he can't put them off for that long.)

"We will return to these matters tomorrow morning," he tells the Council, a couple of faces puckered in consternation, "it is time I put being a father first." He rises from his seat, nods a farewell to the room and walks out as the sound of paper shuffling and quiet conversing begins.

He doesn't want to interrupt his son and his friend, so he makes for the entrance hall. He'll greet them as they arrive, and then they'll be free to get down to their schoolwork. It's not exactly classical King behaviour, but he's rather curious about Prompto Argentum. His son hasn't made many friends over the years (none, actually, excepting _this_ boy). Prompto Argentum seems to be a permanent fixture in Noctis' life now, so Regis would like to know what kind of person he is. If his son _is_ the Chosen King—and Regis truly believes that Noctis _is_ —the road he walks will not be an easy one, and he will need the support of others. The omen showed him as much.

Their timing is excellent. As he strides into the hall, the staff open the doors. In the doorframe, he makes out the silhouettes of Noctis and Ignis easily. The third silhouette must be Prompto, trailing slightly behind Noctis.

"—ust be yourself," Noctis says over his shoulder, not having spotted the King approaching. His voice carries easily in the high-ceilinged hall.

"That's not helpful!" Prompto hisses back. Even under stress, Prompto's voice betrays him as a boisterous personality, and Regis finds himself already smiling.

Ignis strides up to him, clearly the only one aware of his presence. "Good afternoon, Your Majesty," he greets.

Regis replies in kind, "Good afternoon, Ignis." Over Ignis' shoulder, Regis spots Noctis and Prompto come to the realization that he is, in fact, standing in the same room as they are, some ten metres away. Noctis immediately blocks Prompto from his line of sight by standing in front of Prompto, and Prompto seems to poke Noctis in the back, asking him _what are you doing_? They quickly fall into a cycle of arguing that could be a comedy act.

"Thank you for advising me of our guest, Ignis. I would've been crestfallen had I not met him," Regis says carefully, holding back a smile.

Ignis huffs out a bit of air in amusement. "Oh, most certainly. Shall I leave you to it, then?" he says, turning smiling eyes on Regis before taking his leave.

When Ignis leaves, the duo appear to become aware that Regis' focus is on them. Prompto adopts the look of an anak caught in headlights. Noctis sneaks a look at Prompto, then instantly surges forward. "Dad! Dad, can I talk to you for a second?"

Regis nearly quirks an eyebrow. Noctis hasn't acted this excitable since he was about seven. He lowers his voice. "And leave your friend?"

"It's _about_ him," Noctis says, then takes him by the forearm, pulling him quickly off to the side. _This_ is also new—Noctis hasn't tried dragging him anywhere for years, not since he started walking with his cane.

"Noctis, you're acting like the world is on fire," he comments, on the edge of bewilderment. Noctis has never been this... _frantic_ before.

Noctis seems to realize too late his break from his usual composure and grows embarrassed. "I, uh, I just wanted to ask something of you," he says, his voice subdued.

He almost regrets mentioning anything. Seeing Noctis in such a state had brought him a measure of happiness—Noctis has always been too conscious of the way that he comes off. For a moment, he didn't seem to care.

"What is it?" he asks, keeping his voice low as well.

Noctis keeps his gaze on the polished tile, like it's particularly interesting. "Prompto was really avoiding the palace for a long time before this. Could you... not be so kingly around him?"

Regis' eyebrows rise probably into his hairline. "I beg your pardon?"

"Dad! Please?" Noctis hisses quietly.

Regis just takes in the wide-eyed, pleading expression Noctis has on. Prompto Argentum must be _very_ special to his son to elicit this kind of behaviour. Regis' curiosity doubles. "I will... do my best," he promises.

Noctis breathes a small sigh. "Okay. Thank you," he whispers.

"Now, let's go meet your legendary friend," Regis nudges.

They walk back toward the middle of the foyer, where Prompto is standing and looking in awe at the ceilings. He's slight in build, with blond hair that flops gracefully over his forehead in a trendy sort of way. His school uniform is well cared for, though he wears it rather carelessly, tie loose around his neck. The thing about him that draws the eye though is his clear admiration for everything around him. This is a person who sees things that others do not. Regis wonders if it's because the path he has walked is different from that of others, or if it's preternatural.

"Forgive us," Regis says, "there was simply a matter Noctis wished to discuss."

Prompto Argentum rips his gaze from the ceiling. The anak-in-headlights look returns a bit.

He smiles, letting the warmth of it reach his eyes. "Mister Argentum, it is truly a pleasure to meet you. I've heard such wonderful things from Noctis."

Prompto gapes a bit, but at least the fright fades from his eyes. He begins fidgeting however, rotating the wristbands he wears. "You—I—it's—it'sgoodtohearthatYourMajesty," he says breathlessly.

Noctis starts to edge toward Prompto, standing close. Prompto almost doesn't notice though, only darting a glance to his side and simply staying in place.

"Call me Regis," he says easily, leaning a little against his cane. "I understand that you're here to write a laboratory report?"

"Y-yes, sir! I mean, Regis-sir," Prompto responds, jittery enough to increase the speed at which he rotates his wristbands. Regis eyes the green-striped bands, immediately theorizing that his soulmark lies beneath one of them. It's likely.

"Would you mind joining me in the sitting room, Prompto? May I call you Prompto?" he asks.

Prompto shoots an uncertain look over his shoulder at Noctis, who is already wearing a soft expression. Noctis nods once, giving a tight smile, and Prompto looks forward again. The whole interaction takes but a moment. Their synchronicity does not go unnoticed by Regis. They're cleared very attuned to each other, but the flow is natural and unstrained. His intuition flares again—their interaction reminds him of Aulea and himself.

"N-no, I wouldn't mind," Prompto answers, stepping forward.

"I'll send Prompto to your room when we're done. Is that alright, Noctis?" Regis speaks, letting his voice carry back.

"Yeah," is all Noctis says.

When they arrive in the adjacent sitting room, Regis' leg complains a bit. He gives a small grunt as he takes his seat, making heavy use of his arms. When he looks up, Prompto's gaze is alert and focused on his walking aid.

"May I ask what you're thinking of?" Regis says from across the small space.

Prompto starts, surprised, and his gaze quickly darts away guiltily. He gulps. "It's, um, your brace, Regis-sir."

He piques an eyebrow.

Prompto briefly touches his wristband before wringing his hands together instead. He bites his lips intermittently.

The nerves coming off of Prompto are palpable, and thinking of Noctis' plea, Regis tries to sit a little more casually, letting his shoulders droop. "I've heard every opinion under the sun," he prompts kindly, "whatever you have to say, I will listen."

Prompto's shoulders hunch a little less. Their postures match. He has a hard time meeting Regis' eyes. "Your brace... should have more padding," Prompto says.

Regis looks down at his leg. That is not what he expected to hear at all. Maybe a question about how he got his limp, or how the brace works. But not... _advice_. "Really?"

Prompto shrinks a tad.

But then Regis says, "What do you mean?"

For the first time that afternoon, Prompto sheds some of his self-consciousness. "It doesn't look like it stays up very well," he observes, "which means that the support it's providing isn't at its best. You could tighten the brace, but then the metal would cause chafing. You could fix it with more padding."

Regis looks curiously at Noctis' friend. Finally, he decides—"Show me."

Prompto blinks up at him in bewilderment, but the earlier fidgeting is gone. "Y-you sure, sir?"

Regis nods. "Please."

Prompto hesitates for only a moment. "I'll use my tie as an example," he says. Though the tone is shy, it's steady. A lot steadier than any other time he's spoken. Prompto's tie comes off and he folds it back on itself, then steps up to Regis. "May I?"

Regis extends his knee out a bit further and gestures at the mechanical contraption around his leg. This is proving to be a lot more telling than a mere conversation, and he'll gladly go along with it.

Prompto gracefully kneels to Regis' right and tucks his tie in the space between the metal and Regis' calf. Prompto's manner is careful but sure—once he does something, it stays done. Regis watches Prompto, the concentration on his face even with such a seemingly simple task, the commitment to doing something _right_... it's very sincere.

(No wonder Noctis likes him so much.)

"It's not the proper material for padding, but the pressure and the feedback to your leg should be a lot better," he comments, standing up. "Give it a try."

Regis stands, and he _does_ feel a difference. "By the Six," he says, " _this_ is how it's supposed to fit?"

Prompto gives a nod, looking at the brace. "Well, not quite. Padding should be added around your thigh, too, I'd guess."

Honestly, he's quite impressed. "Noctis mentioned that you were admitted into the engineering program at the University. I can see why," he says.

Prompto immediately shuffles in place. "Oh, thanks," he says. He must be unused to praise.

"If you don't mind, would you work on a redesign for my brace with the doctors?" he says, sitting once again and looking directly at Prompto.

"Me?" he squeaks.

Regis decides right then and there—he likes Prompto Argentum. "I can think of no better candidate," he says, smiling.

Prompto's smile is small and nervous, but it's a real one. "That'd be really cool," he says finally. There's a little spark in his eyes that tells Regis that he's being honest. Prompto Argentum seems to be an earnest, transparent sort of young man. Prompto is a very fine friend for his son, indeed. That leaves one other matter...

Regis reaches for Prompto's tie, which is still wedged between his calf and his brace. "I shall return this to you."

Prompto reaches forward to take it. "Oh, right!" he says, then hurriedly ties it around his neck again.

"Prompto, I have a question for you," he opens, leaning forward a bit, "which you are under no obligation to answer, I will add."

Prompto looks up from his newly done tie. He's a lot less nervous now, judging from the line of his shoulders, but a shade of uncertainty clouds his eyes. "Oh! Um, okay. Shoot," he says.

"Have you received your soulmark?"

Prompto stiffens. Still, he answers, "Yes. Um, did you... want to see?"

As a King, he does not want to interfere in the personal lives of his citizens. But as a father, he has been following his instincts—and they tell him that there is something special about Prompto Argentum.

He nods. In response, Prompto slowly begins to peel away his left wristband, confirming his earlier theory.

"Have you found your Fated?" he asks, almost idly.

Prompto shakes his head and turns up his wrist, presenting it to Regis. Regis scoots forward in his seat a bit. After a moment's hesitation, he gently cradles Prompto's wrist in a hand.

_Are you okay?_

"The words aren't very useful," Prompto explains, almost babbling, "I mostly don’t even think about who it could be anymore."

Regis concedes that the words are not very helpful, but the script could be. It's distinct, the letters small and squished together with large spaces between them. He looks up at Prompto, whose expression is mildly anxious.

"I'll find them," he says, and it sounds a bit like a wish.

Regis lets go of Prompto's wrist, silently giving his approval to cover it once again. "When I met Aulea, Noctis' mother, only I knew that she was my Fated. Her words to me were very distinct. Mine to her were not so."

Prompto's face brightens. "That's like my words," he responds.

"Exactly," Regis says, watching Prompto closely, "it was up to me then, to find her. Your Fated will find you, I've no doubt of that."

Prompto nods, smiling a little. "Thank you, sir."

"When did you receive your words?"

Prompto looks at his wristband, which is covering his words once again. Regis' suspicions rise once again when Prompto answers, and they rise _high_. But he cannot say for certain whether or not what he suspects is _true_.

"The day before I turned eleven."

(He thinks back on the way Noctis talked about Prompto, the way Noctis stood in front of Prompto, edged closer to him, looked at him. He's almost certain. _Almost._ )

 

**+**

 

Regis has never liked Chancellor Izunia and he likes him even less now. The man is, simply put, _oily_. There is something about the conditions he presented that smell foul, but Regis has a hard time putting his finger on it. Why insist on the marriage of Noctis and Lady Lunafreya? The Oracle resides in the protectorate state of Tenebrae, and not the Niflheim Empire proper. Such an arrangement seems... _disadvantageous_ for them. And if Regis knows Chancellor Izunia, the man is certainly a master of political maneuvering—not one for disadvantages.

But Regis knows that he has long since been dealt a losing hand. He's just playing it as best he can.

Chancellor Izunia has been escorted outside of the palace grounds and now the Council is free to speak on the conditions he's presented. Regis knows that this will be a long afternoon.

One of the heavily bearded Councillors clears his throat, bringing Regis' attention back to the room. "If Prince Noctis is to marry Lady Lunafreya, the matter of soulmarks comes to light."

Regis only nods, keeping a straight face.

"Their soulmarks must be presented as matching," the Councillor says, "to control any uproar from the citizens."

A female Councillor named Omnia stands up from her seat quickly. "I disagree. We must do the exact opposite. Chancellor Izunia has presented this condition with no precedent, something I'm sure he's aware of! Imagine the marriage is a manipulation of Prince Noctis. How are we to extract him, if not to say that Lady Lunafreya and he are _not_ soulmates? Niflheim will surely paint us as monsters otherwise!"

"The peace of mind of our citizens must come first—"

"Most assuredly not, not when His Highness' safety and position may be compromised!"

Another Councillor chimes in, "Have we any theories on _why_ the Chancellor Izunia would set forth such a condition?"

Yet another Councillor calls, "It doesn't matter, we must decide on a course of _action_ , obviously."

And on and on and on. There are ideas with merit and some without. Regis knows he must play his cards close to his chest if he is to draw a truce with Niflheim, and with that mindset Omnia's suggestions strike a chord with him. However he cannot a imagine a world in which the Crown City's citizens would be happy knowing that their Crown Prince is not marrying his Fated. The power of the soulmark, the allure of destiny, grips them all tight and true. It is awfully trifling to preside over such a romantically-inclined populace. He cracks an ironic smile.

"What is it, Your Majesty?" Clarus asks covertly.

"I just had a thought," he murmurs to his Shield, "that Insomnia is rather enamoured with the idea of fate."

Clarus straightens up again, not wanting to draw attention to their conversation, but he still replies, "That, I cannot deny."

It's heartbreakingly true, isn't it? The Legend, the one of the Chosen King of Light, the one who will save their world from darkness... it's fantastical and larger than life, a sweeping story of destiny and divinity. But he knows that King. That King is his son, and he will do _anything_ to preserve his son's identity.

Regis draws his cane up and down, striking it heavily against the floor. The sound draws everyone's attention.

_Forgive me, Noctis._

He stands and addresses the room, "I have an idea."

 

**+**

 

_"It is therefore with deepest pride and fondest attachment, on the day proceeding the Prince's twentieth birthday, that I announce to the world that the Royal Prince is possessed of his soulmark!"_

_"It is also my pleasure to announce that in six months' time, we will have brokered a ceasefire with the Niflheim empire. And as a true symbol of peace, Prince Noctis and Lady Lunafreya of Tenebrae will be wed!"_

 

**+**

 

The reaction is not entirely unprecedented. He spoke deliberately, leaving out choice words and phrases, and leaving the door open to interpretation. The announcement of Noctis' soulmark is a political move, one that lends great favour to Noctis. With his soulmark, he will be taken seriously as the future King. Regis had also set Noctis up to be viewed as an adult, ready for responsibility—such as marriage. But nothing on soulmates. The announcement of the two events so close together was impeccably timed, and purposefully as well.

Many in the crowd cheer, news of a ceasefire in addition to the Prince's coming-of-age buoying their spirits. A select few however, notice what Regis does _not_ say, the uncertainty clear on their faces. He knows this, and yet he still loathes it—that he cannot assuage everyone's fears. He can think of few days that it has felt worse to be a ruler.

The moment their entourage reenters the palace, Noctis tugs on Regis' sleeve. "Father, I have to speak to you." Though his face is stony, Regis can hear the tremor in his voice.

Regis knows that the engagement is a surprise to Noctis, and not a small one at that. But the Chancellor had visited only the day before, and there was no time to warn Noctis. So of course, Regis readily concedes. "My chambers. Now."

Noctis nods, already lost in thought as he climbs the stairs. He's absorbed in his phone, typing hurriedly.

When they reach the King's chambers, Noctis closes the door quickly behind them. "Father, _what_ is going on?!"

Regis is honest. "The Chancellor of Niflheim visited the palace yesterday. He set forth the conditions of a ceasefire—one of which was your engagement to Lady Lunafreya."

"And you didn't think to _discuss it with me_?" Noctis fires back.

"Yesterday was your birthday," he reasons, "you weren't at the palace the whole of the day."

"You could've sent someone! It's _marriage,_ " Noctis grinds out.

Regis takes a deep breath. He doesn't know how to say this, so he will say it as simply as possible. He leans against his cane. "Noctis, you must not share this with anyone—but this marriage may very well not come to pass."

Noctis' brow creases further, but his shoulders drop, tension leaving him. "What do you mean? Did you just stand there and _lie_ to our people?"

"Absolutely not," he thunders, throwing back his shoulders. Very little irks him more than when his loyalty to his kingdom is questioned. "I simply spoke the truth. That as a symbol of the _peace_ you would be wed. I cannot believe in my heart of hearts that the Empire seeks true peace."

Noctis' gaze changes quickly from anger to shock. "So... what do you think they're doing?"

Regis turns to the window and back, contemplating his answer. "This announcement was carefully calculated, Noctis. The engagement between you and Lady Lunafreya was a condition put forth by the Empire. Should they reveal their true intentions at a later time, the contract will be broken, and you will be under no obligation to them. Additionally, Insomnia and the rest of the world will know of their treachery."

"But how did they get Luna to agree to it all?" Noctis asks, still not satisfied.

Regis shakes his head. "In all likelihood, they did not ask for permission. Lady Lunafreya is an honourable young woman. I cannot see her agreeing to being used as a pawn in their game."

Noctis falls silent then, pondering all of the new information Regis has presented him with.

"Have you any further objections?" Regis asks, dipping his head.

Noctis looks at him darkly. "What about my soulmate?"

Regis squares his shoulders. "What about them? I did not explicitly state that yours was Lady Lunafreya."

Noctis shakes his head. Slowly, his tone becomes angrier. "No, of course you didn't. Everything... you do is calculated. Even _I_ became a piece in your game."

"Noctis," he warns, "choose your next words carefully."

But Noctis doesn't say anything. He simply checks his phone, grimaces, then turns to leave.

The resounding door slam is the loudest one he's ever heard, and the following sigh he emits is the deepest one he's ever gave.

 

**+**

 

"Your Majesty, a word?" Jared approaches him at the breakfast table. He's taking an early breakfast and Noctis is nowhere to be found, though Regis would bet his cane that his son is still sleeping in his quarters.

Regis rids his beard of crumbs. "Most certainly."

Jared bends a bit at the waist. "As you know, Your Majesty, the Prince resides at the Palace only on the weekend."

Regis nods, encouraging Jared to continue.

"The Prince produces very little garbage as a result. But this morning, the maids came across this," Jared says. He reaches into the inside panel of his vest and pulls out a folded square of paper. He hands it to Regis.

Curious, Regis unfolds the paper.

Written across the paper, hundreds of times in the same script, is the phrase: _are you okay?_

Regis' eyes widen. He can think of exactly one place he has seen these words written in this hand before.

On the inside of Prompto Argentum's wrist.

"Jared"—he clears his throat—"how was this come across?"

"The maids reported to me that this was one of several sheets, Your Majesty. Strewn across His Highness' desk and floor as of this morning. I assure you, the maids would never go through His Highness' personal belongings—"

But Regis is not concerned with that. "One of _several_ , you say?"

Jared is unflappable, continuing as if uninterrupted, "Yes, Your Majesty. Over the years, the maids have... encountered sheets identical to this before, thinking nothing of it. But this morning... there were fifteen."

" _Fifteen?_ With this single line repeated?" he asks, though he knows the answer already.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Jared says, finally revealing his concern through a small sigh.

"And they have encountered these sheets before?" he digs.

"Yes, as far back as... four years, Your Majesty."

Regis draws his next breath in deeply, purposefully, his eyes fixed on the paper in his hands.

_Are you okay?_

Finally, he speaks. "Thank you, Jared, for bringing this to my attention. I will handle this."

Jared takes a step back, knowing a dismissal when he hears one. "Yes, Your Majesty. His Highness' well-being is of the greatest importance to us all."

"As it should be," Regis nods. Then he returns his attention to the paper in his hands.

Regis knows now for certain that Prompto Argentum is his son's soulmate. His earlier suspicions, reaching back to that first meeting are now confirmed. And judging from these sheets of paper, Noctis knows as well. Regis is not surprised, per se. But Regis is not built for regret. Had he known of this earlier, he would have made the same decisions, said the same things. Noctis' well-being will _always_ come first, and the situation with Niflheim is one he is navigating with Noctis at the forefront of his mind.

Which is why, moments later, Regis calls Ignis into the dining hall.

"Ignis, could you please do me a favour?"

 

**+**

 

Prompto Argentum enters the palace through the gardens, at his request. He waits on a bench set beneath a magnolia tree. At his feet, ivy coils and sprawls. Among the brightness of the blooms, he knows he looks rather ominous in his black. But he hopes the gleaming gold of the leg brace belies that at least a little. He has worn it for years now without incident, a fortune that he has been gifted by Prompto himself.

Prompto's walk is slow but nimble, his shoes quiet against the cobblestone. As he approaches, he links his fingers.

"Good morning, Prompto," he greets. He nods at the bench across from him to indicate that Prompto sit.

Once Prompto sits though, it's clear that something is _off_. His eyes sport dark circles and his clothes hang limply against his frame. "Good morning, Your Majesty," he says.

Regis almost asks what is bothering Prompto— _almost_. But he does not feel that he has earned that as of yet. So he opens as he intended, "Thank you for coming."

Prompto's gaze is not nearly as nervous as it was years ago, but Regis has the nagging feeling that it's only because he's subdued from something else. Still, Prompto replies politely, "Of course, Your Majesty."

"Prompto," he says, then pauses, waiting for Prompto to look at him. "I've requested your presence here at the palace with the intention of asking a favour."

Prompto blinks, curiosity breaking through the layers of fatigue. "Your Majesty?"

"Please, call me Regis," he insists.

Prompto only nods, gulping. Over his shoulder, the wind blows a row of sunflowers.

Regis inclines his head as if telling Prompto a secret. "I'm ashamed to admit that it's no small favour I ask of you. But I am rather powerless in this situation, you see. I turn to you with the confidence that you are the best person for the task."

Prompto's gaze darts to his leg. "Yes, Your M—Regis?"

Regis allows himself a small smile. "It's not for me, Prompto, though the brace is still working wonderfully. It's for Noctis."

Prompto's reaction is not what he expected—he expected maybe flustered surprise, or an easy agreement.

But Prompto only says, "Oh."

Regis wonders if something happened between them. Prompto almost certainly has no clue of his soulmate status due to his generic soulmark, and so his decision today carries even more weight in Regis' eyes. Regis tests the waters, "Prompto, as I'm sure you've heard, Noctis is engaged to Lady Lunafreya."

Prompto's gaze falls. "Yes, I've heard."

Regis watches Prompto very closely. "The time between now and the marriage will be... fragile. Those who wish to go on fighting the Empire may not wish the best for Noctis, nor for Lady Lunafreya."

Prompto slowly raises his head. Though there is conflict written across his face, worry wins out. "Really?"

Regis says sincerely, "Yes. As his father, I worry for the Prince. But I cannot be at his side all of the time, nor will he accept my help, I suspect." He gives a small, ironic smile, and Prompto's expression lightens a tad in response.

"This is why I must ask you to stay by his side," Regis says, and he knows what he's asking is a plea at its heart. "It will be a challenging time for him. In the months before the marriage, he will set forth from Insomnia to meet Lady Lunafreya in Altissia. It is my selfish request that you accompany him."

Prompto looks completely shocked. He re-links his fingers twice. Finally, he says, "I... I don't see how I'm the best choice, sir. Gladio is Noct's Shield. And Ignis is his attendant. They're far better choices than me. I don't... do anything."

Regis observes Prompto for a moment. The shadows beneath his eyes, the paleness of his lips. His hunched posture, his lack of confidence. How is such a joyful person so beaten down? How is someone so smart so unsure of himself?

Regis stands and joins Prompto on his bench. He places a comforting hand on Prompto's back, which immediately causes Prompto to look over.

"Prompto, I know that you cannot see it, but it is _you_ who is the best choice." He turns his gaze on Prompto, making sure to look him firmly in the eye. Soulmate matters aside, Prompto and Noctis clearly make each other happy. And happiness bolsters the spirit and the mind. They are better together, and Regis knows it and feels it as deeply as anything. It is a terrible pity, the hand they've been dealt. But he knows something about playing a losing hand.

Regis makes one more plea, "Prompto. If you would, please do me the great favour of accompanying my wayward son."

Prompto gulps, then looks up at the magnolia tree. The tilt of his head is forlorn—and resigned.

"Yeah, okay. I'll go with Noct," he says, trying for a smile.

Regis closes his arms around Prompto in an impromptu hug.

And he's thankful that for all the weight of destiny and legends and omens, Noctis has Prompto Argentum for a soulmate.

 

**+**

[end of interlude]


End file.
